Russian Roulette
by ModernMaenad
Summary: After being betrayed by his former friend, Niko Bellic has no choice but to flee Hove Beach. While hiding in Mallorie's apartment, Niko receives a call from someone within Dimitri's own family. Sam offers him a deal; money, for the chance to destroy Dimitri's organization. The offer sounds good, but raises a very important question: Can this stranger be trusted?


A/N: Our little story picks up right after the Russian Revolution mission in GTA IV, where Dimitri betrays Niko to Bulgarin, but before he has taken any jobs from Manny or Brucie. This is my first attempt at anything kin to a GTA/Video Game fanfic, so please read and feel free to review, if you want to!

* * *

Niko's body ached all over.

It wasn't even the nice sort of pain, the kind you got after a good job and a good rush of adrenaline; this was the kind of pain that just drained all the energy from you, made it hurt to walk around the apartment or to even leave the bed. Even so, even with the pain, Niko had forced himself to get a shower (it was cold), and to eat something (it had tasted like shit). Even if he was in a bad way, and even if his cousin was justifiably angry with him for trusting that Russian scum, he had to keep himself alive. God only knew what sort of trouble Roman would get into if he died. That wasn't even mentioning the indignity of dying of starvation after surviving an ambush like that.

It was a stupid mistake. He had been told to never trust Russians. Both his experience at home and in America had taught him that. But still, _still_, he had believed he could trust Dimitri Rascalov. They had been through a lot together; hunting down debtors, breaking a few legs. They had even killed Mikhail in an effort to

After filling his stomach as best he could with off-off-brand Hot Pockets and making sure he wasn't going to vomit them back up, he hobbled to the futon, pulling back the worn-out blankets. The Serb laid down without even bothering to undress, resting his head on the pillow. Roman had gone out, probably to drink away his anxiety, but Niko didn't want to do anything other than sleep.

The phone call came in right as he was closing his eyes.

It rang once, twice - only to stop right as he got his fingers around it. He released a grunt, slumping back against the mattress. But then it rang again, the screen brightening as the metal vibrated against the wood of the bedside table. For a moment, Niko almost considered throwing it across the room. The phone was Roman's, though; it wouldn't do too well to break something he had been given. So instead, he clicked the green button and brought the old piece of junk up to his ear.

A grunt was the only greeting the caller received.

"Ooh, someone's a morning person." The voice was male, aged somewhere around his early or middle twenties. And there was an accent there; European, for sure. English, perhaps? He wasn't quite sure, and it was too late to try to concentrate. "Niko Bellic?"

"Who wants to know?"

A chuckle. "Always on guard. It's almost amusing." It sounded as if the person shifted, and then there was typing in the background. Quick, rapid typing with clicks that all seemed to blur together. "You were brill today, mate. Ace, even. I have never seen such a lovely display of betrayal and anger."

"Glad to know my performance was entertaining," he grumbled, huffing out a sigh. He noted the typing. "You'd better not be tracing this fucking call. I just killed twenty Russians, that's not counting the cops, and I'm in no fucking mood to deal with any more of them."

"Oi, ease up, mate. I'm not with the cops. Actually, they have several warrants out for my arrest, so trying to work with them…" The man trailed off, and there was an awkward moment of silence. But then he resumed his talking. "I hacked into the security cameras, actually, to see the showdown. You've got quite the aim, Neek. Although I noticed you missed a certain Russian's head…"

"Don't call me Neek." There's a grunt and a groan of pain as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. "Yeah, I noticed. But you never answered my question. Who the hell are you?"

"Call me Sam. Hacker, translator, and rabid coffee addict. It's a pleasure to meet you, Neeks." A few more clicks came across the line, before the sound of tapping stopped completely. "Ah, there you are. Ooh. _Ooh._ That, um… That's not exactly the _neatest_ apartment you've been in."

The Serbian glanced around almost frantically, instinctually pulling his blankets up over his chest to cover himself, forgetting that he was wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A growl escaped him.

"That's none of your fucking business. How are you seeing me?"

"It's nothing special, really. Just a quick hack, into Mallorie's computer. She's got a webcam set up, and if I just… Ah, there we go. Ooh." His voice rose, just a little. "You've, um… Ah… Yeah, that's definitely a nice back you've got there. Makes me wanna run my nails down it. Give a few good scratches."

There was another growl, and then Niko Bellic made himself stand, his back cracking as he did. He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a rag, walked back, and draped it over the webcam.

"No watching me. I don't fucking care who you are, you respect my boundaries. What do you want?"

"Hey! Come on, now, I was enjoying the show!" Sam huffed, cracked his fingers, one at a time. "You've got quite a nice arse, actually. _But _that's not the point. From what I've seen today, you have just made yourself a very powerful enemy out of the Russian mafia. And, judging by what I know I can do well, you have also made yourself an ally. One who's in good with the Russians. Do you see where I'm going?"

He cocked an eyebrow, chewing on his inner cheek. After a moment, he muttered, "What's the catch? People like you are only in it for themselves, you must want something in return."

"What's the catch? I get revenge on the Russians and I _don't_ have to get off my fat ass to do it myself. What more of a catch do I need?" He sounded almost amused, as though he was trying to hold his laughter back. "I might ask you to grab a meal once or twice and deliver it to my lovely assistant, but otherwise, you get to kill Russians, for money, and we both get to watch the systematic downfall of Dimitri Rascalov's empire. And once it's gone, you'll have that spineless rat of a man all to yourself. Do I have your attention yet?"

More chewing. His fingers twitched. He sat back down on his futon, mulling it over.

"I will do one, _maybe_ two jobs for you. To see how we work. After that, I may continue, I may not, it depends. I've been too trusting before."

"Yeah, you're telling me. Going off and doing every little thing Dimitri asked of you is a bit too trusting, even by my tastes. But that's all in the past, I suppose. No need to fuss on a few screwballs, eh?" The typing resumed. "Move over to the computer, Niko Bellic. You'll see your instructions on the screen. It's too dangerous to say them aloud. Walls have ears, and all that nonsense." Then, quietly, "Especially when you're in the den of the enemy."

He moved to Mallorie's computer at the other man's request, shifting the rag so that it still covered the webcam without blocking the screen. His eyes skimmed the instructions; Dimitri would be receiving several hundred pounds worth of crack cocaine within the next twenty-four hours, enough cocaine to keep him in business for the next couple of months. To ensure that side of his business disappeared, Niko would have to make the cocaine disappear. It was simple enough; easy, too, considering the location. One false move, and all that coke would float gently to the bottom of the sea. Niko nodded.

"Sounds easy. How much is the pay?"

"Tell me what you think it's worth. Shouldn't be too difficult, just a few shots, a few hundred pounds of lost coke, and Dimitri's lost a huge piece of his income. Think you could even pick dinner up on the way back? I'll add in my address at the bottom."

"Will take the coke as payment, then. Can give it to a friend to sell, should make a good price. Do you want a cut?" He gave a small snort. "And fine. What kind of food?"

But the only sound that greeted his ears was the beep of the disconnected call. Instead, the words Sam was going to speak began to appear at the bottom of the screen, typed with quick precision. Niko rolled his eyes, watching them.

"_Me? Of course not. I have plenty of green stored up in various accounts across the world. It comes with being a hacker, and being good at what I do. Burger Shot, please. Two double cheeseburgers, large fries, and a coke. Perhaps even a milkshake. Oh, and get yourself and Roman something to eat. You'll receive payment for the meal at the ATM on 32nd street. Code 4475._"

He hesitated, a moment, then began to type back, each letter chicken-pecked agonizingly slow.

"_Okay. Where should I take the food? Anything else you want or need?_"

"_Stop that. You can talk, you know. The webcam is on. [Sigh.]_" There was a slight pause, a moment where nothing on the computer moved. The cursor just blipped on and off, on the last symbol. "_All right, go to Broker. The apartments near the Broker Bridge. Not the nice ones, the ones to the right. Drive to the second building. If you send me a message right as you cross the bridge, I'll send my Legs down to get the food. I think you'll like her._"

Niko ignored the instruction about the webcam. He was still pissed off about the fact that this stranger could hear and see him; he wasn't going to indulge him. He typed an, "_Okay,_" before turning the wireless on the computer off and hobbling back to his bed.

This "Sam" could wait until he'd rested for his dinner.


End file.
